I Got Your Message
by Lucyh95
Summary: Voicemail fix-it fic. Sam stared ahead. Seeing nothing but flashes of the painful past he thought he had left behind. He was over it, right?


_**I Got Your Message**_

* * *

Sam was staring at the too many different flavors of doritos when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered. "Yeah?"

On the other end, a cheerful voice replied.

"Sammy, don't forget those new flavored doritos. Oh, and also get pie." Sam could hear his brother grinning through the phone. Dean had been in a much better mood, lately. Sam was relieved, it was so good to see his brother smiling again. Sam sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically, but he couldn't help the small smile.

"Yes, Dean. I'm standing right in front of them. How many flavors does one need, anyway?"

"Sam," Dean began earnestly, "there is no such thing as too many dorito flavors in this world, I will tell you."

"Yeah, yeah, do you need anything else?" Sam reached out to grab one of the bags.

"Oh yeah, can I borrow your old phone for a sec? Need some-"

Sam paused abruptly, eyes widening. And at that instant, the groceries completely were forgotten.

"No!"

The sound broke out of him before he knew it.

A moment of stunned silence followed.

On the other end of the line, Dean began to speak. He sounded worried.

"Sam? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"Uh, no, it's nothing. I, uhm... I mean..."

Shit, he sounded like a stuttering twelve-year-old.

"Sammy, wh-"

"I have to go, see you later." And before Dean could say any more, he broke off the line.

 _Shit_.

Sam stared ahead. Seeing nothing but flashes of the painful past he thought he had left behind. He was over it, _right_?

He shook his head and grabbed a bag of chips, not caring which flavor it was. It didn't matter anymore, anyway, because Dean would not let this go. _No_. He would ask and pry until he got Sam to explain. But Dean would not be happy with the answer. Not at all. And even if Sam refused to talk; Dean would get his answer, and if not from Sam, then from that damn phone itself if he had to. Sam swallowed, feeling a shiver run down his back. A cold stone had settled in his stomach. If Dean heard-

 _No!_ he cut himself off. Don't think about that. Think about a solution instead. He could throw the phone away. Or burn it, or smite it to bits. But for some reason, he didn't want that. Couldn't do that. And Sam didn't want the answer to why that was. It was just a phone, nothing special about it, right? Maybe he was just exaggerating things.

He let out a shuddering breath. And just now that Dean was finally feeling better, why had such a thing have to come up. It had been ages, after all. Yeah, it had been such a long time. No point in worrying about it anymore, right?

His phone rung twice during his drive back to the bunker. And twice his heart leaped painfully in his throat.

Sam tried to come up with an excuse. Some sort of solution for this whole situation. But he couldn't come up with anything. And before he knew it, he was back at the bunker. The drive back home had seemed way too short.

He sighed and rested his forehead against the steering wheel of the car. He could already feel Dean's gaze on him, watching him. Trying to find out the reason for Sam's outburst.

Suddenly Sam felt sick. He couldn't do this. Not again. Not now-

A tap on the window had him raising his head so fast that his muscles protested. Sam looked sideways.

 _Dean_.

Sam swallowed and reached sidewards to open the door.

"Hey," Dean tried his best to sound normal. But he couldn't completely mask the worry in his voice.

"Hey," Sam replied awkwardly, even though he really did his best to sound normal too.

 _Normal, huh?_ A voice in the back of his head whispered softly.

Sam ignored it and got out of the car, bag in one hand, keys in the other.

"Here," he held the bag with groceries out to his brother. "I've got you Doritos. And pie," he added lamely. Sam cringed inwardly.

Dean took the bag and keys from him. And nodded, "thanks."

The silence dragged on, and suddenly Sam couldn't bear it anymore. "Uhm, I still have things to look at, some lore and stuff."

"Uh, okay."

He left Dean behind and felt eyes boring holes into his back. But he didn't look back.

Sam sank down on his bed. His room was like he had left it behind. His old phone still tucked somewhere far away.

He bowed forward, hands clasping between his knees, staring at the floor, his mind far away. He didn't know how long he sat there, but a knock pulled him out of his thoughts.

Dean opened the door. "Hey." He seemed somewhat uncertain, and opened the door a little more, revealing a plate. "I've got you a sandwich if you are feeling up to it."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks."

Dean stepped into the room and put the plate on Sam's desk near the bed. For a second Dean seemed to waver, but then he turned around.

"Hey Sam, you gotta tell me what's wrong, man. Did I do something? I-"

"No!"

Again, the word burst out of him before he could stop it.

"I mean, no. No, you didn't do anything wrong, Dean." He continued softly.

Sam couldn't look at his brother. And suddenly he thinks he might cry.

Sam shook his head. "It's nothing, Dean. Just forget it, okay. It's not important. Not anymore."

He still didn't look at his brother.

Dean moved, and the bed dipped next to him.

"Sam, you know you can tell me anything, right? This is not like you, man."

And Sam was back at being five years old again; his big brother trying to find out whatever was bothering his little brother.

"What's with that phone, Sam. What's on there that I can't know about?"

The silence between them stretched out again until Sam spoke up, his voice suddenly going hoarse. He had to clear it before he could go on.

"It's... you know, _that_ old phone, and, and..." Sam trailed off.

Dean arched an eyebrow. "What, Sammy?"

 _Sammy_.

The nickname sent a flash of white-hot pain through his heart. And Sam couldn't take it anymore.

"You should know what's on that phone!" He bursts out. He's looking at Dean now, eyes wild, and they stare at each other.

"I should? How the hell-"

"The voicemail, Dean." The words are a whisper. And Sam can't believe what he's saying. It's like his throat is on fire, and his brain doesn't seem to function well anymore. His thoughts are a mess.

Sam squeezes his eyes shut. How could Dean forget? How could he-

"What voicemail, Sam?"

 _Huh?_

Sam lifts his head and turns to look at his brother again. Dean's staring at him, worry and confusion clearly on his face.

"Dean, you-"

"When was this?"

"Dean-"

"When did you get this voicemail, Sam."

"R-right before... before I set Lucifer free." _Before I screwed over the entire world._

The words are so soft-spoken Dean has to strain his ears to hear them, and suddenly there is not enough oxygen left in the room, it feels like an invisible hand is squeezing his insides.

After a few attempts, he finally gets his mouth to obey.

"Let me hear the message." He grates out.

Sam feels his eyes widen. "What, no- you should know-"

"Sam, give me the damn phone, or otherwise I will find it myself!"

And Sam knows that Dean means it. So he stands up and makes his way to his desk to retrieve the phone. His legs feel like they are made of jelly and his heart is hammering loudly in his chest. He feels sick. When he finally makes it back to the bed Dean snatches the phone out of his hand and flips it open.

For a small moment, the only sound to be heard is the frantically tapping of keys.

Then, a harsh voice fills the room.

 _"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning: I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam, a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."_

Sam sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut. And he wishes the earth could just open up beneath him and swallow him whole, because-

The sound of shattering metal and plastic has him opening his eyes.

Dean's chest heaves with every inhalation he takes. Nearly gasping for breath. The phone he was holding a few moments ago is in fragments on the floor.

"I didn't say that, Sam. I never would say such a thing."

It takes a second for Sam to catch up.

"What?" He croaks out.

"I didn't say that, Sammy. Back then I left you a voicemail saying that I was sorry. That I was not dad. But I never said this- these terrible and disgusting things."

Dean turns toward Sam to look at him, eyes wide. "And you thought, after all these years, you thought that I- Sammy, I'm so sorry."

Sam can only stare at his brother. His thoughts won't slow down, and his lungs seem to have forgotten how to expand. He gasps for breath. Suddenly his face is wet. Mortified he ducks his head and begins quickly to wipe away the moisture.

"Hey hey, Sam. It's okay. It's gonna be alright, I got you." And suddenly he's wrapped up into a hug. Sam stiffens for a moment before letting himself melt into the embrace, dropping his head on his brother's willing shoulder. All of a sudden he's exhausted, it's like all the strength has left his body at once, and he leans further into his brother.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Sam gasps out. But Dean's arms tighten around him. "You got nothing to be sorry for. I should be the one saying sorry. Oh god Sam, I can't believe you thought-" Dean breaks himself off and a shudder runs through him.

"I checked my voicemail right before- and if I had known- if I had known I would never have-" Sam's breath hitched.

"Sammy, I know. It's okay, I know. We were both manipulated. We both made mistakes. But it's in the past. It's not important anymore. It doesn't matter anymore who or what it was. All that matters is that you know that I never would say such things to you. You're my brother, and nothing will ever change that."

Sam nods and grabs a handful of his brother's t-shirt and squeezes his eyes shut, willing back the tears, breathing in his brother's familiar scent.

They stand like that for a long while until Sam pulls away, wiping his face.

"Here."

He looks sideways and smiles softly. "Thanks."

When his face is dry Sam turns to look at his brother. Dean is studying him, worry still evident in his eyes.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Sam nods. And he means it. A weight has finally lifted from his shoulders. The burden he hadn't even been aware of anymore after carrying it with him for all these years, is finally gone. And he slowly lets out a breath.

"Yeah, I'm good."

* * *

 **Episode 04x22: *exists***

 **Fandom: nooo... *waits on voicemail fix***

 **Supernatural writers: muhahahaha *evil laughter somewhere in the distance***

Okay, this is my contribution to the already large number (and really amazing!) voicemail fix-it fics out there. I hope this is alright. I did my best to come up with something new, but yeah...

Still, I hope this helps everyone a little who is also still obsessing over that stupid voicemail.

All the mistakes are mine.


End file.
